


My Soul Has Been Shipped Away

by dearmrsawyer



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/pseuds/dearmrsawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Centuries have passed, but the Davy Jones legend is still very real. However, someone else has taken over Jones' job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Soul Has Been Shipped Away

The _Serenity_ had first sailed two years ago on the verge of The Great War. Citizens had wished for an escape; they begged for a place to which they could run. Families boarded in the hope of fleeing countries soon to be purged by warfare and hostility. The cruise ship had been the first of its kind: a place off-land, away from seas of battle, where families would not suffer, and could feel safe.

Now, the _Serenity_ was lost in her own battle, fighting an elemental war. Mother Nature had released her fury. Fghting

The waves grew exponentially, slamming the vessel about. The water bore down on her, threatening to capsize the enormous ship. None but the crew remained onboard; they had no choice: it was their livelihood. All who could, fled the merciless waters at the last port.

Thackery stumbled and slipped along a vacant deck, the door to the cabin out of reach. Rain blurred his vision and sea spray soaked the wooden deck, releasing the grip from Thackery’s shoes. His whole body shook with fear and cold; his thoughts were erratic and unproductive. Family and death fought for first place in his mind, but neither had a chance against the situation at hand. Deck furniture fell overboard; Thackery ducked to avoid being struck by an umbrella. Half the crew had already been lost to the storm; he could barely hear the voices of those left over the roar of the ocean.

The _Serenity_ knocked sideways violently, the water pressing against her steel body. In mounting fear and frustration, Thackery planted all four limbs on the deck and began pawing his way to the door of the superstructure cabin in the hope that he could reach it before the sea’s arms stretched across the deck and seized him, sweeping him away. Life was fragile here. He saw a crewmate tumble into the darkness over the side of the ship, disappearing from existence. Tears mixed with the rain already drenching his face; Thackery was friend to all on this ship. He had already lost many companions, and even now they were falling away all around him. Voices of panic and desperation cut through the elements occasionally, but never more than a syllable or two.

The ship lurched again and Thackery’s head met the side of the cabin, crashing forward and disorienting him. Thackery’s head spun and he lost his feet, hands falling to his head. Water washed across the wooden boards, sweeping Thackery up and carrying him a few metres down the port side of the ship. He threw out a hand in fear, feeling it connect with a solid, metal piping. Gripping it firmly, his body continued along the wave, swinging around and crashing into the railing he was holding on to. With immeasurable efforts, he gathered his thoughts, looking around to see where he had ended up. He was further from the cabin that he’d been to begin with, but inside was his best hope of staying alive. Screams echoed off the darkness as he lifted himself up, clutching his head and running as fast as he could before another wave deferred him. The ship rocked cruelly again, sending him across the deck, past the cabin. He skidded along until he grabbed a loose rope and swung back slightly.

The cabin lights above flickered as men ran to and fro past the windows. Slowly, they began to go out, drenching the night in a deeper dark. Thackery saw that the rope was tied to the tip of the bow, but not before his hands slipped on the wet rope and as the ship waved, he dropped down the rope into a large light against the cabin. His leg hit the glass, shattering it completely. Shards forced their way into his skin, piercing and tearing. His leg burned in the exposure to water and the friction against his trouser material. Thackery’s screams were buried in the wind. The pain and commotion caused his head to swim, rivalling the Serenity herself, and he felt the powerful, slow throb of a man who was bleeding out.

Suddenly the deck was vertical and the horizon disappeared; the sky spun, falling from above and rising from beneath. The moon was swallowed by cloud, and as the lights of cabins above diminished one by one, darkness pressed in and threatened to devour Thackery in one swift swallow. Bodies fell to the watery depths and Thackery closed his eyes, pushing it all out. His hands held the rope tighter than ever as he supported his own body weight. His leg scraped and knocked against the ship, burning.

The ship rocked back into place and Thackery fell flat against the deck. He reduced the grip on the rope, easing his grazed hands. His heart pounded, matching the waves blow for blow. His weight caused the rope to slip until he was no longer hanging towards the port side, but swinging across the bow. Deck chairs dropped, one cuffing his shoulder with its full weight. He felt his shoulder dislocate. His cry was muted against the ocean’s power; his dislocated arm hung loosely, twinging with every movement as one hand was left to hold the rope. Chancing a glance at the cabins, he saw the last light flickered noncommittally.

Thackery looked up to the clouds that had covered the moon a second time that night; the sky was as black as the water, no stars, no moon. A wall of water swelled behind the stern of the ship, foaming in approach. For a few seconds, all sounds dissipated and silence consumed the scene. The first sounds to return were the screams, before water swallowed them all.

The water grabbed and clawed at him, rushing down from above, engulfing him.

Without warning, he burst out of the drenched darkness, air swelling all around him. Thackery took deep, gulping breaths, spluttering and coughing up water. His single hand gripped the rope tighter as his bleeding legs crashed into the cabin that, once beside him, was now beneath. The ship tipped towards the heavens, creaking with age.

The Serenity heaved, giving an enormous crack before dropping further into the sea. Thackery looked below to see the waves open wide like hungry jaws, swallowing the vessel whole. He could no longer see any of his crewmates. Water sloshed at his feet, creeping up the bow steadily. The rusted rail to which the rope he held was tied unhinged from the deck, bolt by bolt, lowering him towards the water. Thackery felt his stomach drop as he realised he was helpless; only the hand holding the rope could help him now. Without warning, the railing gave way and he plunged into the open sea, floundering. Waves pushed him from side to side without rhythm. Thackery could barely open his eyes and pull in oxygen before he was struggling to the surface once more. His good hand brushed something solid and he gripped it tightly, propping his good elbow onto it to keep him above water. Looking down, Thackery saw it to be one of the _Serenity_ ’s deckchairs; its floral pattern was invisible.

Thackery was at the mercy of the sea, riding the waves that washed his way. His only option was to hold the deckchair and go with the current. There was no knowing how long he had floated out there alone. His whole body bled. His legs no longer felt like his – the last time he’d seen them, the flesh was a mess. His shoulder still hung pointlessly at his side, sitting atop the water’s surface. His head throbbed from the collision. His system felt weaker. His smaller cuts stung in the salty water, blood mixing with brine. Hours must have passed, and the sea began to calm. Fresh cloud cover maintained the pure darkness above, but there was a strip of light on the distant horizon, slowing turning from navy, to blue, to crimson.

Thackery doubted he would remain conscious, or alive, long enough to see another sunrise. His eyes dropped closed as he laid his head against the wood in his hand, his body becoming one with the water.

Somewhere in the distance was the creak of aged timber; it echoed off the waves, reaching Thackery’s ears. His eyes searched the surrounding sea. He’d been alone for hours – heard nothing but wind. He had guessed he was far outside the path of any trading vessels that crossed this ocean.

There it was again, this time followed by the whisper of material flapping in the face of the swirling gust. Thackery eyed the horizon; he spotted a dark shape, perfectly outlined against the ribbon of light. Its form was sharp in the distance: a ship. But no ship like the _Serenity_ , or any in her league. The ship was outdated by centuries: tall mast and broad, weeded sails. Water rushed off the deck, splashing up the ocean around her. Thackery shrunk into the water as the ship approached unnaturally fast. Barely metres from the floating deckchair, the unknown ship halted, and a longboat was lowered down, bearing but one passenger.

Thackery’s eyes roamed over the ship; it was moulded and rotted, coated in moss and seaweed. Barely visible was a sunken word on the side of the bow: _Dutchman_.

As a young boy, Thackery had been both fascinated and terrified by the legend of Davy Jones and the _Flying Dutchman_. His father – a navy man – always threatened the locker upon young Thackery if he ever misbehaved. As a grown man, Thackery had more sense than none, but in the presence of the _Dutchman_ itself, all memory of such childhood horrors bubbled to the surface.

The longboat waded nearer, sidling the deckchair. The being sitting inside faced Thackery, but its face was shrouded in darkness. Thackery didn’t need to see its face. He knew who he was looking up at.

“Thackery Taylor.”

The voice was temperate and soothing. It was almost a whisper, and yet drowned all sounds of the ocean. Thackery stared up into the black silhouette, his fingers groping at the small, silver cross around his neck. A silent prayer for mercy passed his lips as the being in the longboat steadied the deckchair with one hand.

“Please… don’t hurt me. I beg you,” Thackery pleaded.

“I mean you no harm, sailor. Have no fear.”

“Mr Jones… please… not the locker…”

“Good Sir, I am no Jones.”

The man in the boat leant forward and the swelling sun of dawn washed over his face. His loose, brown hair framed a warm face. His dark eyes – dark as the deepest depths of the sea. He smiled gently, holding out his other hand to Thackery, who dared not take it.

“Come Thackery. You have done your best; it’s now time to move beyond this world.”

Thackery was silent for a moment, adjusting his weak grip. “Who… who are you?”

“I am the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ , and it is my duty to guide you across the veil, beyond the horizon, to a new place.

“My friends. The crew – _Serenity_ -”

“They are on the next step of their journey. It is your turn.”

The Captain pressed his hand further forward. Thackery felt trust for the Captain well up within him involuntarily. He took his hand from the metallic cross and reached forward. Climbing into the longboat unusually easily, he left the sodden deckchair behind in open water. The boat began to wade towards the _Dutchman_ without oars. Thackery sat silently across from the Captain, his eyes drawn to the long scar adorning his chest. It seemed old and faded, but permanent.

Within minutes he had boarded the _Dutchman_ , standing on a vacant deck with none but the Captain, and another, older man at the wheel. His long, stringy hair seemed made of weed, and his intake of breath somehow amphibian. The Captain looked forward to the horizon, his eyes washing over the Sun that sat between the sea and sky.

Thackery felt his bodyweight fade away; he grew lighter and lighter until even gravity could have been rendered helpless. Similarly, all sense of fear washed away with the waves, leaving him with a peace; an inner tranquillity. He noticed the Captain still faced the slow sunrise; Thackery turned toward it and was shocked to find the Sun so large. The _Dutchman_ seemed to be sailing toward the Sun quite literally. Soon the Great Star filled all his sight, with time also consuming his peripheral vision. And yet his eyes never burned. It was not long before Thackery was tempted to just reach forward and touch the Sun with his own hands. Indeed, it seemed they had reached the world’s end.

There was a blinding flash of brilliant emerald, and then there was nothing but wind and waves, and a vast, empty sea.


End file.
